


Thunderstorm

by CastielsCarma



Series: Supernatural Stay at home [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Goats, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24242188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Dean has had his fair share of men and women, but somehow they always leave or turn out to be assholes. He craves something more but is convinced that people will never see him as good boyfriend-material.And if problems with his love life were not enough, a neighbor moves in, disturbing the peace with his goats.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural Stay at home [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699483
Comments: 25
Kudos: 75





	Thunderstorm

**Author's Note:**

> Part 7 of SpnStayAtHome challenge from Tumblr.
> 
> Today's prompt was Thunderstorm.
> 
> My doc crashed and turned corrupted right before I was gonna post (yay for Google docs though). If you see any oddities in formatting, please let me know. As always I hope you enjoy. <3 Comments are greatly appreciated but never a must.

Dean Winchester wakes up to blinding light piercing his eyes and turns his back on the window and the sunlight engulfing his room. He doesn't need to feel the side next to him being empty to know that Michael is gone. He probably sneaked away straight after Dean had dozed off, sated after the mind-blowing sex.

Dean sighs and gets up slowly.

Sated but not satisfied. If that wasn't the story of his life. He stumbles to the bathroom to relieve himself and almost slips on Michael's boxers. Great. He picks them up and tosses them in the trash.

Sure, sex with Michael is freaking amazing, he is a beast in bed but it leaves a sour taste in Dean's mouth. It's a feeling that has been intangible but suddenly – in the early morning hours – and after a few months it seems crystal clear: the acrid taste of being owned (not the hot, sexy kind of owned either).

Dean grabs an old worn Zeppelin shirt, pulling it over himself and scuffles out into the kitchen. Popping the fridge open, he grabs a jar of peanut butter and some jam. He pushes some bread in the toaster and makes coffee while waiting for the toast to get the right shade of burnt.

The scent of coffee permeating the kitchen air does some to wake him up, as does the blend of salt and sweet of the peanut butter and jam sandwich, but it isn't until he gets the black liquid of gods inside himself that he truly comes alive.

“Fuck,” he moans as the coffee jolts his senses, forcing him to be truly aware since waking up this morning. The headache he sports tells him he was a tad heavy on the drinking, the slight ache further down tells him more than he wants to remember about Michael.

“Who needs him anyway?” Dean mumbles into his coffee.

He looks out the kitchen window. The clouds have scattered, already bending to the might of the sun. It looks like it's going to be a bright and sunny day, a notion that doesn't make Dean any happier. Fuck the sun and sun rays and chirpy tweety birds.

Dean gulps down the last of his coffee and heads out the door to grab the mail. He squints against the sun, the headache flaring up like someone tossed a match to gasoline-soaked rags. Donatello is already up, waving at Dean as he pushes his lawnmower in front of him.

Dean waves and shakes his head slightly in bewilderment. If Donatello keeps mowing the lawn, he'll soon hit the core of the Earth. Thankfully, Donatello is an old fashioned, traditional kind of old man – knitted vests, pipes, and dry crackers – and gets up predawn so hopefully, he'll be finished with the mowing before aggravating Dean's headache further. Maybe some more coffee will help he muses.

Mailbox is empty save the thick newspaper. It could have been worse – bills were never welcome.

As Dean picks up the newspapers he notices that the house next to him is finally occupied. The sold-sign had been up for months and but Dean had not seen a living soul near or on the premises until now.

It seems they came with the truck in the middle of the night. He can see new curtains in the windows, a soft light glowing in a room, and other clues that tell someone is inhabiting the house.

A pot with a tiny little tree sits on the porch, there's some kind of wind-chime moving gently in the slight breeze, and Dean is pretty sure he hears the distinct sound of goats coming from the house.

What the hell? No one seems to notice the bleating. Dean casts a glance at Donatello who seems lost in the magical world of landscaping – that or his allergy meds are keeping him sufficiently in the clouds – and hasn't even commented anything on these four-legged grass chompers intruding.

 _This has to be against HOA- regulations_ , Dean thinks. Who the fuck has goats as pets?

Dean can't help but indulge in his curiosity. He grabs the newspaper tightly, and walks to the side, the grass tickling his feet where the slippers don't cover them. Sure enough, at the side of the house, a pen has Harry Pottered itself, complete with two living, breathing goats. One is completely black and the other is all white with two little horns poking up. They both turn as Dean approaches and their bleats stop.

“Hi fellas. You do know that you're in breach of HOA-regulations?” The white goat bleats once and then continues to munch on grass. The black goat on the other hand just stares at Dean. Its eyes are a bit off-putting, a shade of blue that would have looked mesmerizing on a human. On a goat, it seems wrong. “What you looking at? It's not my ass the HOA is gonna haul and turn into kebab.” The black goat keeps its gaze transfixed on Dean, so much so that it starts to freak Dean out.

He decides to get back inside before his new neighbor goes out to check the commotion.

As Dean rounds the corner, the door to the house opens. Dean has a sudden impulse to hide, and luck as it were, the tree is there. He scurries quickly and stands behind the tree, realizing too late that the spindly branches are not near enough to cover him.

He can't really see the man's face as he pokes up as some branches are in the way, but a halo of black hair and one arched eyebrow is enough for Dean to know he's been spotted. Well, that and that the guy says he can see him.

“I can see you, you know. You must be the Winchester.” His voice is gravelly, and it sends shivers down Dean's spine. Dean hasn't felt like this in forever, excited. It's something that's palpable, a force in the air, the guy's freaking aura, who knows what. Dean just knows that it's there and he needs to see it. Touch it. He steps out from behind the tree.

“Hiya, uh, yeah. I'm the Winchester – Uh, Dean. Your neighbor.” And holy hell and all the devils, is his new neighbor not the hottest thing since crispy bacon? He's almost the same height as Dean, he knows this cause he stares directly into the bluest eyes he's ever seen. His mind goes briefly to the goat's eyes – yeah, they were freakishly blue too – but the goat didn't hypnotize him with his gaze. Just stared at him as if he wanted him six feet under. Judging by the frown the guy is giving him, Dean suspects he feels the same as the goat.

“Hello, Dean. I'm Castiel. I'm well aware that we're neighbors. My house is neighboring yours, it's a given. So why are you near my house, and not yours?”

As Castiel speaks, Dean feels a chill coming on. He looks at the sky briefly, and a weird sense of relief washes over him like he's just escaped something huge and monumental. Grey clouds cover the sun, and while Dean is grateful that the sun is hidden, his headache decides to make itself known right then.

It's like someone swung at him with a hammer. Dean staggers and sways, grabbing the porch railing for purchase. He takes a moment to gather himself, and the neighbor reaches out to steady him, grabbing him by the elbow.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome. Why are you skulking?” His voice is gravely and sends a shiver down Dean's spine.

“I'm not. I was out to grab my newspaper and I heard a sound. Thought I heard goats. Just checking it out. You're new here but I don't think goats are allowed. HOA are sticklers for us following the no goat rule. It's a no-go.” Dean chuckles slightly but gets nothing in return.

Dean hears a weak rumble in the distance and looks up at the sky again. It seems like a storm is building up. The sky is the color of new asphalt now; the shift from gray to black happening very suddenly.

The new guy just stares at him – kind of like the goat did.

After a beat of silence, he speaks. “HOA only specifies the domesticated animals of dog, cat, rabbit, and horse as being explicitly forbidden.”

“Alright, my bad.” He extends his hand. “I'm Dean.”

The man seems unfazed. “I'm aware.”

Dean stops himself from shaking his head and drops his hand. “Right, and you're...”

His pissed off but very hot neighbor hesitates briefly before answering. “I'm Castiel.”

Dean realizes that he's still standing behind the tree like an idiot. He takes a step forward, rocking on his heels. “So goats, eh?”

A small smile tugs at Castiel's lips. Dean takes that tiny gesture of acceptance. “Yes. Gnasher is the white one and Snarl is the black one. They've been with me for quite some time. I'm fond of them but they can bite your hands off. Don't touch them.”

Gnasher and Snarl? Jesus, who is this guy? Were Ramsey and Butt-Head taken? Dean worries for a second that some kind of psycho has moved into the neighborhood.

He looks at Castiel again but he seems normal enough. Jeans, a black sweater that hugs his body just right, full lips, _very_ full lips that Dean's definitely not thinking of kissing, thick thighs, to have those wrapped around – he needs to rise up his mind from the gutter. Castiel's entire appearance, it all screams normal. Maybe even boring.

Yep, Castiel is definitely boring. “Right, Castiel. Don't worry, no touching. So, which one's the black one?”

Castiel hesitates before answering. “Snarl.” He takes a step back, retreating. “Now stay off my property.”

Dean clicks his tongue and nods. He knows this wasn't the smoothest welcome-to-the- neighborhood-visit but hopefully Castiel didn't think he was a total douche. “Sure. Sorry about – “

Castiel has already closed the door.

Dean sighs and heads over the lawn to his side. He's only taken two steps when the skies rumble. A deep crackle echoes as thunder sweeps over the neighborhood. Rain starts pouring out of nowhere, a strong gush that threatens to not only soak the lawn but flood it.

The newspaper in Dean's hand crumbles under the rain. Donatello has already abandoned his lawnmower. As Dean takes the final step inside and closes his door against the unpredictable weather gods, his newspaper is basically a paper smoothie.

Dean lets out a curse and throws the newspaper away. He grabs an Advil for the headache. It's not as severe as it was a few minutes ago but it's still there, an unwelcoming throb at the center of his forehead.

Forgoing the newspaper, Dean plops down on the couch. It's still morning but the weather is fucking terrible, it's probably gonna rain all day and his hot, totally doable next door neighbor thinks he's a stalking moron. He's earned an entire day in solitude. Besides, it's a Thursday, meaning it's his day off.

Dean puts on Netflix and is wiggling down into the favorite part on the couch when he feels something against the small of his back. He pauses the movie and digs out a pair of black lace panties.

Dean groans as he recognizes them. First Michael with his pump-him-and-dump-him attitude and now he gets a very unwelcome blast from the past. The thin intricate lace panties, probably with silk threads or platinum embroidery – who the fuck knows – belong to his ex-fiancee.

They broke it off almost a year ago – rather he broke it off – so the panties must have been wedged into the sofa during all that time. Dean shudders and drops them on the floor.

Amara had been a piece of work. There was never a dull moment when he'd lived with her. Dean was all for excitement, living on the edge but he was not the one to dive off a fucking cliff Thelma and Louise style. _Yet you almost did_.

Another crash of thunder startles him from his thoughts, and he's grateful for it, despite his throbbing headache. Everything is better than thinking about that hellcat. The rain patters against the rooftops and Dean decides he's done with thinking about exes and assholes. He presses play and loses himself in the rom-com world. There at least, he's not the only idiot that fails romantically.

And for a while, he can forget about his own sad endings and pretend that he has something, _someone_ in his life that hasn't treated him like shit.

*

“You look like shit.” Charlie's voice is chirpy as she plays with the straw in her milkshake but Dean can see the worry behind her eyes. She's as fierce as the halo of fire kissed hair around her face. “You still working with that douche who refuses to change diapers?”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah but parents have been complaining about her chewing-nails attitude. Abaddon will be gone soon. Crowley is a weirdo but he's protective of his charges and his stature even more. He'll sacrifice her rather than parents losing an ounce of respect towards _Little Darlings_ or him.”

“Put her in time-out.” Charlie slurps the last of the milkshake and eyes his.

Dean pushes it over to her. “Here. Glad they're feeding you over there.”

“They do. Wouldn't wanna mess with the cybersecurity expert, but do they bribe me with shakes? Nope.”

Dean grabs a napkin and starts tearing it into small pieces. “We don't put the kids in time-out. Doesn't work that way. And trust me, Abaddon deserves a helluva' lot more than time-out even if we did. She's a redheaded wench of a woman.”

Charlie slaps him on the shoulder. “Hello. Redheaded wench sitting right here.”

Dean grins. “Not you, Charlie, you're far from a wench. More a firecracker of a woman. You're honest, you kick a mean punch – “

“ – and I'll do it again to protect the glory of Moondoor.”

Dean grins at the memory. “Yeah, you did, remind me to never mess with the Queen again.” He clears his throat. “A good right-hand hook and you're smarter than I'll ever be. They'll be lucky to have you, Charlie.”

“Dean, if I didn't know better I'd think you're trying to butter me up. The milkshake is a start. Call me when you grow a pair of boobs and we're game.”

Dean barks out a laugh. “I'll do that.” His smile dies down.

“You can talk to me Dean, you know that.”

Nodding, Dean grabs the mangled pieces of the napkin and pushes them together into a small pile. “Got a new neighbor. Castiel.”

“Oh.” Charlie perks up. “Castiel, how exotic. Is he hot?”

Dean lets out a breath. “Exotic, yeah, you can say that. I mean, Charlie, he looks like he stepped out of a fucking model magazine or whatever. It's just that he thinks I'm a total douche.”

“Why you? How he'd get that idea?” Charlie smiles. “Really good shake by the way.”

“You're welcome, mooch.” But there's no real bite behind his words. “I was kinda um, skulking around his house. Dude's got goats, Charlie.”

Charlie perks up at that. “A hot dude with goats. Dean. He sounds like he's the full package. But you're totally doing it wrong. No skulking, just do it heads on. Offer him a cow. That'll _moove_ him.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I'm serious. They were goats and I checked it out and now he thinks I'm a total creep. He told me to get off his property.”

Charlie makes a face. “What would you think if he was sneaking around your house looking for... I don't know, geese. You look like you could own geese.”

“Geese. I ain't going near any geese. Those long-necked flying death machines won't touch me. And imagine the poop, they're birds, they crap all over the place.”

“You wouldn't have them inside, you dummy.”

Dean laughs. “Oh, wow, sorry I'm not the goose expert here. I forget, you're the expert on all things bird.”

Charlie winks. “At least the birds on two legs.”

“Damn straight.”

Charlie laughs and extends a hand towards him. “Or not.” She pauses and squeezes his hand. “You're alright, Dean?”

He is tempted to say yes. He is really, the shake was kickass, Charlie is such a good friend – he doesn't deserve her – and he is fine. For now. But then she blinks and does that thing with her eyes. “Hey, don't go all Bambi on me.”

Charlie flutters exaggeratedly with her lashes. “What do you mean?”

Dean shakes his head and sighs. “So, Michael just left. Again. I mean, why am I even surprised? He's done it before and it's not like I'm amazing boyfriend material.”

“Dean. Stop. Don't let that anyone fool you into thinking that you're not an amazing guy, and you would be, you _are_ a freaking amazing boyfriend. These muggles don't deserve the awesome wizardry that is you.”

“Yeah, I'm awesomely messed up. And then I found a piece of Amara's clothing and just – it really hit home you know...”

Charlie leans in. “Dean, listen. Amara was wrong. Any girl or guy would be lucky to have you. That Michael and Amara acted like a bunch of assholes, that's not on you. They were not right about you.”

“I don't know, I – “

“I do know. You're worth fancy dinners with the good kind of steak and Pad thai with chicken, meat, _and_ shrimps. You're that level people grind for hours, weeks, and months to achieve. You're the green mushroom in Super Mario, people level up when they're around you.

Dean feels heat color his cheek, an odd mix of anger and shame coiling in his gut. “Yeah, you're my friend, you're supposed to say crap like that. I'm just – “ He rubs his eyes. “I dunno' guess my old age is catching up to me.”

“Your work is literally being surrounded by kids all day long. I saw you last week climbing a tree!”

Dean chuckles at the memory. “Yeah, I don't know how many times I've told Theo not to climb so high on that goddamn tree. He's already fallen once, but he was fine. Kids are soft as sponges at that age... they soak up stuff like sponges too.” Dean makes a face. He still remembers the call from Mr. Cauthon about his son Mat suddenly picking up new and unwanted vocabulary.

“Anyway, I'm just tired of... people. I just want something normal you know. Netflix and chill with actual chilling. Someone that wants to – I don't know... do couple stuff I guess. Not someone who feels the need to sneak away in the middle of the fucking night.”

Charlie nods in understanding. “How about your new neighbor, Castiel?”

“I doubt he'll want to date a weirdo goat stalker, remember?”

“Yeah, but if you were living in Farmland – Fresh Farmer Adventures, I can assure you, even as a goat stalker people would line up.”

Dean laughs and pulls at Charlie's hair. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“What for?”

“For talking goat and making me forget about my miserable love life.”

“Any time, Dean. There might be another way but it's... unconventional. “ Charlie hesitates to say more which piques his interest.

“I doubt it can get any more unconventional than Amara being all possessive and meeting two goats this morning, where I'm sure one was out to take me down.”

Charlie bites her lip briefly before her eyes shine with excitement. “It's a love spell... of sorts.”

*

Dean glares at the paper and then looks at his phone. Modern way or totally insane, incenses waving witchy way? With a sigh, he slides his phone back into his pocket. He'd already tried Tinder and Grindr (and Bee-Miner, what he thought was a dating app but quickly realized was an app for fans of _bees_ , of all things). He didn't have anything left to lose.

“At least not my dignity, that's far gone,” Dean mutters for himself before pulling the curtains together in his bedroom.

He's been downstairs and collected all the ingredients for the love spell and ordered the more obscure ones online. He organizes them in the order they are to be put in the bowl. Charlie had explained that it wasn't that important, 'just chug them in there and say the words, pretend you're that druid when we LARPed a while back'.

Well, that had been fantasy and this was real life. The only thing he'll chug is beer. Dean checks that he has enough matches and then proceeds with the love spell.

First, he gathers the seven flowers. The spell had just said flowers and that they had to be seven different kinds, so Dean had gone to the nearest flower store and bought just one when he saw the prices. Seven dollars for one rose? Not even the big, fluffy kind, but the one that looked like the sad, long lost rose cousin of the Beast's flower.

Dean had decided that it had been much more affordable to pic the remaining six flowers from nature itself. Donatello's garden has flowers in the back, there is grass, so technically that counts as nature.

He rips them apart and tosses them into a bowl, grinding them to mush with a marble pestle. He rakes his fingers through his hair and finds a spot near his ear. He pinches some hair and pulls. Success! He drops the strands of hair in the bowl too.

Where in the seven hells did Charlie even find this spell? He's read every single line at least four times and tried really hard to see Charlie's handwriting in the slanted scribbles but if it's a fake, it's the most elaborate (and so far only) love spell hoax he's ever seen.

He's thought long and hard about the red item. That was the only specification and he'd even texted Charlie, asking her for clarification. Her response had been 'something red, Dean.'

Dean mutters a curse under his breath as he grabs the chili powder container. If he's gonna set this unholy stew on fire, he had decided that he should pick something that is flammable. He opens the container and shakes out a good generous helping of the chili powder straight into the bowl.

Now for the second to last ingredient. Dean fiddles with the paper in his hands. He's folded it three times but the words are burned into his retinas anyway, etched into his soul. It's words that he's ever uttered in silence to himself before– and that has only happened when he'd felt the most desperate, most in pain... most alone.

He paces back and forth in his bedroom, avoiding the spot near the middle of the room where the floorboard always creaks.

It's just words on paper, but it's Dean's hope and deepest desires. And sure, he's thought about it when he was lost, angry and hurt – both Amara and Michael had been a part of that whole mess – but this time it is just him and hope. He sets his jaw in grim determination, walks over to the bowl, and flicks the paper inside.

Alright, one more step to go. He pushes away the doubts and fears that rear their ugly heads. Instead, he grabs the bowl, and clears his mind, so that 'love will come to him'. He'll deal with the aftermath later. Beers are chilled, there's a pie in the fridge and he has Netflix.

He lights a match and tosses it inside the bowl. He's supposed to be closing his eyes right after but he peels one eye open just to make sure that something is burning. Satisfied when he sees the small flame, he closes his eyes and tries to breathe calmly.

Panic rushes through him, quickly followed by self-loathing and hopelessness. Dean exhales and starts humming AC/DC's _Thunderstruck_ which calms him down. Clap, believe and save Tinkerbell. Dean stops humming and waits.

What feels like years pass as Dean stands in his bedroom, with a small fire burning in a bowl like a failed pyromaniac. Then, he just lets go and empties his mind.

He doesn't see shit, just a blackness which is no surprise since he's closing his eyes. Then he hears something, a weak rumble that fades into nothing. Great, now he's interpreting his stomach growls as hidden messages about his nonexistent love life.

The rumble grows louder and Dean's brain finally connects the auditory sensation to actual reality. It's thunder he hears. The soft showering of rain soon follow but the thunder is still present, crackling in the background. It grows wilder and the next explosion of sound causes the small hairs on Dean's arms to shot straight up.

He finds it strange that there's no lightning – but he figures that his mind is doing a half-assed work with his hallucinations as it does with everything else in his life. As if being summoned, something bright flashes in front of his eyes.

The sound of thunder is overwhelming – it reverberates inside of him and makes his heart beat faster – as it eclipses the rainfall. Dean's body is not convinced it's in his bedroom anymore but rather in the eye of an epic storm and his mind screams at him to run.

Another sharp flash of lightning and Dean opens his eyes. He scrambles backward in shock.

Castiel looks at him, mild annoyance on his face. “Isn't there an HOA regulation for trespassing inside someone's home, Dean?”

Dean should be the one being annoyed. It's his freaking hallucination and somehow he's being scolded. It sure sounds like the same gravelly voice that causes the good kind of tremors to coarse through his body and as Dean's eyes take in Castiel's thick thighs – he's built like a tree, his firm stomach, very nice face – ten out of ten, to finally land on his face, Dean knows the truth.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Dean stands in Castiel's bedroom as said guy stares at him, only a pair of boxers covering up him up. The shock of it all, that the spell actually works, that Castiel is in front of him, that he stands there almost naked, all of it makes Dean stumble out words that could have been more eloquent. “I-I – you're almost naked?”

Castiel looks down at himself before paying attention to Dean again, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Your observational skills are amazing, Dean.” Castiel takes another step towards him. Thunder crashes outside the house, still ongoing and the windows rattle with the sheer force of it.

As Castiel slowly walks towards Dean, the darkness follows him like a jealous lover, and soon not even the persistent lighting strikes outside make any difference.

“That's quite a storm outside, hm?” He keeps his tone light. He's a big guy but Castiel is jacked. And even discounting the goat incident, Dean is pretty sure Castiel has all the reasons to try and knock him out, if not kick him out.

“Yes. I've always found thunder to be soothing. There's a beauty to it don't you think?” Castiel quiets down. He narrows his eyes, and there's steel in them. “Now, tell me again, Dean Winchester, how you entered my home?”

Dean takes a step back as Castiel uses his body as some kind of hot, sexy shield. He bites back a laugh. What's wrong with him? He's about to get his ass kicked, Charlie's fucking love spell seemed to – well not work as intended, but _something_ had certainly happened.

Dean raises his hands. “Look, Cas, you won't believe me if I told you. How about I just head back home and we forget all about this?” His eyes rake over Castiel's body before he finds himself. That's something he won't forget.

Castiel walks over to a closet, opens the door, and grabs a shirt. “Indulge me.”

Thunder crashes right above them and Dean jumps at the sound.

Castiel turns, an amused smile on his lips. “Skittish?” He slides into his shirt with ease.

As he closes the door, Dean notices a small piece of framed art hanging on the wall. It looks like a gilded toy hammer of all things.

“Dean. I'll only ask you one more time. My patience is wearing thin.”

Dean tears his eyes from the strange art piece. The hair at the back of his neck stands up. Dean is not the kind of guy that backs down from a fight, but there's a quality to Castiel's voice that not only demands, but expects attention. His eyes are hard, the blue now matching the tempestuous weather outside and Dean thinks of Snarl's goat eyes. They have the same shade of blue. Dean almost starts laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all but swallows when a hard look from Cas sends shivers through him.

“I –“ He shakes his head. He's gonna sound like a fucking lunatic but here goes. “Long story, and trust me, it's too long even for my liking, my luck with love has been crap. Not just the divorced kind of crap but, yeah. I've tried fucking everything, so this was my last option.” Here comes the fool and isn't it always Dean. “It was a... love spell that someone... uh, gave me. It brought me to you.”

An odd mix of dread and relief war within him, none prevailing but now he's come clean at least.

Castiel starts laughing. “A love spell? That's wonderful.”

Dean looks at Castiel in confusion as his shoulders shake. That was not the reaction he was expecting. He takes a step forward, hand raised. Castiel is still doubled over. Dean briefly contemplates sneaking out while his neighbor is busy taking the train to crazy town but it's as if Castiel can read his mind because suddenly he straightens, a serious look coming over him.

“A love spell! And here I was thinking you were a seith. Haven't seen one for a very long time, but my brother is always up to mischief. I was really close to putting on my gloves.”

Dean licks his lips. Castiel has not only taken the train to crazy town, it appears he's also taken up residence there too and for quite some time. You usually take off the gloves for fighting, but Dean is not going to correct the guy's grammar. “Look, Cas. I don't know what's going on but I ain't no sith.”

Castiel shakes his head, and walks over to Dean, slapping him on the back. “You have humor. I like that.” He steps back, nodding to himself. “A love spell, that usually requires potent magic. Did you find the spell to be to your... satisfaction?” There's an amused gleam in his eyes.

The thunderstorm has calmed Dean notices but the pull of Cas' voice and his words has his body at attention. His words are pure honey, but Dean won't delude himself, magic or no magic. “Yeah, it worked like a charm.”

Castiel hums. “Good. So, do you want to take a ride?”

Dean licks his lips, his eyes momentarily flickering down to Castiel's stomach and going lower still. The guy sure looks nice, thighs still thick as fucking tree trunks, and Dean envies that shirt that gets to cling to all that hot skin. Castiel's hair is dark and disheveled, his eyes possess a magnetic lure, and if he's being honest he wants to plant his lips on Castiel's hot mouth.

He almost goes for it but then he remembers why he did the goddamn spell in the first place. “Um, I don't know. It's not that you're not good looking... actually you're way more than good looking, hot even – Dean clears his throat and stops himself before he lays his heart bare to Castiel. He barely knows him.

“I meant a ride in my car, Dean. We can grab a beer and talk, as a start.”

“B-beer sounds good but – Are you not surprised I just showed up like freaking Jack-in-the-box in your house?”

Castiel tilts his head slightly. “No, things rarely surprise me much these days. We have a lot to talk about. I prefer my love interests to be aware.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Uh, aware? Aware of what?”  
Castiel grins. “How it is to date a god.”  
Well, isn't this Castiel full of himself, Dean thinks briefly – Dean's a god too, thank you very much – but Castiel turns his back to Dean. He grabs a pair of pants and snakes a belt through the loops. The buckle is an intricate forging hammer and it definitely commands attention to the love area.

Dean is not sure what to make of Castiel's fashion choices. “You gonna wear that hammer?”

Castiel looks at the wall, at the tiny hammer hanging there. “Younger brothers, you know how they can be. Although I must confess, I do find the joke funny, now. Back then I called thunder on him for over a fortnight.”

“I was talking about your belt buckle.”

Castiel grabs it, giving it a shake. “Of course I am.” He puts on a pair of sneakers and is already out the door.

Dean follows Castiel as he leads them behind the house. The sun is heavy on his back and Dean looks up. The sky is clear, the clouds whiter than toothpaste and bluer than he remembers it to be – it's worse than the Teletubbies sky. All he needs is the sun mocking him with its shrill laugh.

“There was – what happened to the storm? Thunder, lightning, the whole shebang?”

“It stopped.” Castiel says it like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“No, listen. It was like freaking Thor had a birthday party. Loud thunder, lightning strikes that made the hair at the back of my neck stand up. The sky was black! Those things don't just stop.”

Castiel waits until Dean catches up with him. “We can't have a storm now, we're on a beer date. Nothing tastes better than a cold beer on a hot day. The gods must truly be with us.” Castiel chuckles at that.

Dean's been following Castiel but stops in his tracks when they round the corner and he sees Castiel's ride. “That's your ride?” It's almost a whisper.

“Yes, it's a 57'– ”

“ – 57' Thunderbird. Oh, fuck, she's perfect.” Dean tries to calm his stuttering heart. The red paint is flawless and shines in the sun. “Can I touch her? Wow, I never figured you'd be driving a car like this.”

“I moved in a day ago. You already had time to figure me out; after only twenty-four hours?”

“Uh-huh. I would've guessed Prius. Boy, was I wrong.” Dean slowly runs his finger over the paint, sighing. “Wow, we're going on a date in this car, Cas? Marry me, why won't you?”

He can hear Cas laugh softly. “I see you like the classics. I've seen your car, so I'm not surprised.”

“Hell yeah, Baby is my pride but this car... It looks brand new. Must be worth a fortune.”

“Get in. I know the perfect place for beer.” Castiel closes the door behind Dean. “I'll be right back.”

Dean barely pays attention to Cas. The car is in mint condition; it looks like it just left the factory line. He sinks down in the seat and inhales the scent of oiled leather. The seat was made for him. Dean is lost in the car and carefully examines everything.

A bleat interrupts his thoughts. Gnasher and Snarl are trotting behind Castiel. He opens up the passenger door. “It'll be a tad cramped but they're good goats. They will share.”

“Wait, what?” Dean closes his mouth but his brain is still reeling from the shock. “Now just hold on a minute. You're gonna – they're gonna ride in the car?”

Castiel looks at the car and then at Dean. He squints, silence reigning for a minute. “Yes. They're not big for being goats. Come here, Snarl. Gnasher, you've never let me down.”

His voice is calm and holds an unexpected warmth for addressing a pair of goats. Castiel picks up Snarl and puts her in Dean's lap. “Hold her and she should be fine.”

Snarl bleats, her blue eyes looking at Dean with unsettling intelligence. This is wrong on so many levels, car-levels, goat-levels, common sense -levels. “You better not fart or poop or whatever it is you goats do?” Snarl starts munching on Dean's hair but stops when he swats at her.

Castiel grabs Gnasher, the white goat, and puts her down next to Snarl. They balance precariously on Dean's knees. He's old, his knees won't be able to handle all this extra goat weight. “Is this even legal?”

“The legality of this will never be an issue.” Cas smiles at Dean and puts the car in reverse. “I'm looking forward to this beer date, Dean. You've piqued my interest.”

Dean clears his throat and moves Snarl so she's looking at the seat. Her gaze is creepy. “Yeah, same here, Cas. My interest is very piqued.”

Castiel puts the Thunderbird in reverse and off they go. It doesn't rain or storm for the entire day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thor's goats in Norse mythology were called Tanngrisnir which means "teeth-barer" or "snarler" and Tanngnjostr which means "teeth-grinder" in old Norse.


End file.
